


Playing Games

by EntreNous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunkenness, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Party, Poker, Strip Poker, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:18:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Really, Greg had no idea how his flat-warming 'do had turned into a strip-poker game, but at this point they were well into it.  Various jackets, scarves, jumpers, ties, and other articles of clothing were strewn around the room; it almost made Greg feel nostalgic for his days at uni.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Games

**Author's Note:**

> For wastingyourgum's prompt over at tumblr asking for John/Lestrade and strip poker.

"Take it off, take it off," Donovan chanted. As she rose to leer, Lestrade could just glimpse the top band of her business-like tailored grey skirt. The black silk bra with its pretty ivory lace accent that was the only thing she still wore on top, though, was rather more eye-catching.

Dimmock whooped in encouragement from where he was sat. If he kept on listing to the side, though, Greg didn't doubt he'd soon be whooping from the floor, and that clad only in his starched buttoned white shirt and tartan boxers.

"All right, all right! You lot are obviously cheats and liars," John declared, getting to his feet. He thumbed open the top button of his jeans, grinning when a collective cheer went up.

Really, Greg had no idea how his flat-warming 'do had turned into a strip-poker game, but at this point they were well into it. Various jackets, scarves, jumpers, ties, and other articles of clothing were strewn around the room; it almost made Greg feel nostalgic for his days at uni. 

It probably wasn't the most professional thing he could have sanctioned. But what the hell, they were all off the clock. And the party-goers who might have disapproved of racier pastimes had all left much earlier, Sherlock among them (muttering about some experiment and gesturing irritably in acknowledgement of John's reply that he'd stay a bit longer, thanks).

"I don't know who is responsible for making sure I get all the cards. But never have I been so betrayed," John proclaimed, making Constable Harris, one of the newer members of Greg's team, giggle into her hand. 

Dramatics aside, he did have a point. Though the entire table had lost a few garments during the game, John had probably been the hardest hit. 

First off was the stylish pork pie hat he'd worn to the party. Sally had confiscated it to perch it at a rakish angle on her own head despite pronouncing it "hipster nonsense", and later insisted she was allowed to lose it as her first article of clothing. Dimmock had hotly contested this, pointing out she couldn't just go putting on John's discarded things and taking them off all night (Anderson had for some reason gone a bit dazed when he'd said that).

The very next hand saw John's jumper tossed aside. Two rounds later, he was minus his shoes. His soft-looking grey socks soon followed. 

While technically Greg might have noticed what everyone specifically had taken off, he found himself keeping a running tally on John's items particularly. It wasn't like he _meant_ to keep track. It was just he couldn't ignore John's increasing degree of undress, not with everyone reacting uproariously every time. Sally crowed when John lost his buttoned shirt. Harris squealed when John slowly tugged off his belt. Anderson rolled his eyes and said pointedly he'd had enough just after John's tight t-shirt came off, revealing John's fit torso to a round of applause from the ladies.

Various guests excused themselves along the way, departing for the Tube or by taxi, until finally only Dimmock, Sally, Greg, John, and Harris were left in the game. 

"Really, we're going to do this?" John asked, amused. His hand paused at the second button on the denim and raised his eyebrows, half-disbelief, half-challenge.

"Dimmock took his trousers off! Come on, strip, strip, strip!" Sally began, repeating until Dimmock cheerfully joined in. Harris gave another of her high-pitched giggles and lent her voice to the charge. 

Greg grimaced and moved subtly away from Harris, telling himself it was only her laughter growing more grating as the evening wore on, and not the way she kept leaning toward John to show off her cleavage (even before she'd lost her printed flowery blouse). He ignored Sally when she pursed her lips at him knowingly. 

"If I must," John said as if reluctant. But as he flicked open the second button and then went for the third, he looked at Greg and winked.

The table went strangely silent as John undid the last button and eased the jeans off his hips before stepping out of them and letting them fall. 

Greg occasionally pondered whether various men he knew were the type for boxers or briefs. But he hadn't counted on seeing anything tonight like John's tight pair of heather grey boxer-briefs with the dark blue stripe, not with the way they hugged his hips and outlined his obviously generously-sized cock and enticing arse.

"Pwhaor," Sally said admiringly. Harris gave a fervent nod.

"Right." John sat down with admirable nonchalance. "Someone should get me another pint before we start again; I won't have you all ogling my arse if I have to walk over there myself."

Greg tried to tell himself he wasn't ducking his head because a flush had come to his cheeks. It was merely that he'd followed Dimmock's progress as the other detective inspector had at last collapsed on a heap on the floor, snoring. 

Anyway, Greg still had on his t-shirt and jeans, having only had to shuck his jacket and dress shirt while they played. So at least no one could tell the blush went further down. 

"Actually, we ought to be on our way," Sally said shrewdly. Greg cleared his throat and deliberately didn't look her way; she was too clever by half sometimes. 

"But we've barely started," Harris protested, eyes flickering to John. 

"You're going to help me pour this one into a cab," Donovan said briskly, all business again even as she tugged on her shirt and jerked a thumb in Dimmock's direction. 

"Couldn't John help?" Harris pouted. 

John opened his mouth to reply, but Sally interrupted, "What, you think you can't manage it?" At that Harris tilted her jaw up at the challenge and more or less hauled Dimmock to his feet by herself.

"I'll just stay behind for a bit, help Greg clean up," John offered as the ladies pulled on various discarded items, trading Dimmock back and forth between them so they could dress. 

"You really should," Donovan told him, giving Greg a pointed look. "You'll have the most to put back on after anyway, won't you?"

After she and Harris wrestled a now-awake (and apparently prone to cuddling) Dimmock out the door and down the stairs, John turned to Greg, the start of a grin quirking at his mouth. 

"So where should we begin?" he asked, indicating the mess of crisps packets and bowls of olives and small plates of pickles Greg had set out, along with empty pints and whiskey glasses the guests had left scattered here and there. 

"You can go home if you like. I can take care of all of this myself," Greg muttered.

"Sure?" John tilted his head to the side and stood to take a step closer to Greg. He kept his position comfortably, apparently entirely at-ease in his barely clothed state. 

Greg couldn't help but let his gaze drift down. _Christ_ , that lovely little pair of pants on him. He wanted nothing more at the moment than to yank them right off. 

When Greg swore and made a rush for him, John laughed and caught him, backing them both up until he hit the wall. 

"I should probably ask, make sure you're all right to give consent and all that, what with the drink," Greg breathed out before he bit and kissed up John's neck. He reached John's jaw and moaned as he licked along the underside of it. 

"Oh god," John choked. He let his head fall back for better access. "If I would have given it yesterday, and the day before that, _and_ the day before that, I think you'll find I can give it tonight."

"Yeah?" Greg grinned and slid his hands down from John's shoulders to his waist. "How many days before that, then?"

"Yeah." John grasped Greg's lower back and pulled him close. Smiling, he slipped his hands into Greg's back pockets and gave him a grope. "Oh, I'm not going to show my entire hand just yet. Bad enough that you're far too good at poker."

"How's that bad, being good at a game?" Greg shivered as John pushed Greg's t-shirt up his torso. He huffed appreciatively as John's thumbs skimmed along to tease his skin and rub over his nipples before John tugged the material all the way off. 

"Well, obvious." John tilted their hips together, pressing his hard cock against Greg's straining prick. It felt almost too fucking good even through the soft material of John's boxer-briefs and the denims Greg still wore when John got their erections aligned and gave that first gorgeous thrust. "At the moment you're wearing entirely too many clothes."

"Right." Greg fumbled as he went for his flies so he could take off his jeans at last, still keeping John pressed against the wall as much as possible. 

It was a hurried sloppy affair, John panting and biting Greg's shoulder as Greg tugged both of their pants down. At last he clutched both their cocks in his hand and got a good rhythm going. Just before the first tremor of his orgasm had him jerking forward, Greg covered John's mouth with his, groaning at the faint taste of hops and salt, and at the fantastic feeling of John's hips stuttering forward faster and faster.

When they caught their breath, John made as if to move, and Greg reluctantly took a step back. 

"I should --" John started after a moment of silence, waving a hand generally to indicate his heap of clothes still on the floor. 

"Yeah, okay," Greg allowed.

John's lips went tight, but he nodded and turned. 

"Wait, no," Greg blurted, taking John's wrist in his fingers to halt him, turn him. He took a deep breath. "You should stay." 

John's blue eyes searched his face. "You really want me to?"

Greg nodded, bringing John's hand to his mouth to kiss the palm. "Yeah. You can count on it." He met John's gaze and grinned. "Funny thing, but I'm actually not that good at playing games."


End file.
